Okay, so this isn't gong to be fighting dragons, knights in shining armour fantasy. In fact, I don't think there's going to be any magic at all. It's just set in a different world...
Can you please help me with (well, specifically these...)
-getting rid of the dark and stormy night cliché beginning
-naming the country, I don't like this one
-how to improve the passages on the carriage breaking and the birth
-any names you particularly dislike
-tell me how my dialogue runs
-improve my dodgy lullaby
And anything else really...
Prologue: Rain
One dark night, as a storm raged overhead, a carriage made its way along the road through the kingdom of Valeria towards the city. The passenger had been travelling for a week and was still not halfway to her destination.
The storm was one of the fiercest the kingdom had seen this year. Always in autumn, the lightning flashes frightened children and thunderclaps disturbed the animals. What was curious this time was that there was no rain. It had not come yet, though the clouds were gathering, and the lightning flashed in the most awesome colours, spiking its way down into the forests and the plains in oranges and pinks, as well as a regal blue, colours you could not help but admire. The thunder rumbled deeply, like a roaring animal, and rolled across the heavens like the footfall of an army.
The carriage had come through the foothills of the mountains and was in one of the low valleys, where handfuls of houses fashioned themselves as big towns on lakesides and rivers.
The lady that rode in the carriage had always been slightly frightened of storms, and in her present state was even more so. Her hand glided over the silk of the specially fitted dress. Below it, inside her swollen stomach, the child was kicking, ready to begin its own life, ready for freedom.
She was beautiful, at least, her face showed traces of beauty, though tiredness and age were beginning to take over. She had a sharp profile, one that gave off the air of never missing a thing, and deep blue thoughtful eyes. Her hair was deep brown, with silver now threaded in it, and was piled on top of her head in the latest fashion.
Opposite the lady, her maid, a young woman who would no doubt find work in the city, looked at the bump as well, the lady knew that the girl was frightened that they would not reach their destination in time. That was why she had brought this particular girl along anyway. Her mother had been a midwife, and the lady hoped she had passed her expertise along. But the girl tugged at her fingers nervously and leaned forwards, ready to leap at a moment’s notice, but at the same time concentrated on keeping her breathing even.
A pain caught her off guard and she closed her eyes, counting under her breath until it passed.
“We’ll get there Barbara,” said the lady in her musical voice, that had a calming power on people to the maid. “We’ve a long time yet before this one’s ready.”
She only wished her voice could reassure herself, as the maid sat back a little. She rubbed her stomach again and settled back to look out of the window.
They were approaching a village. There was candlelight shining out of a few windows in the distance, and the moon shed some light on straight grey walls and thatched roofs. The road led straight through the village, but there were laneways leading off to farms, small clusters of buildings in the distance.
The lady got up and opened the hatch so she could speak to the driver, Paul, sitting on the front.
“Take one of these lanes. I’d like to avoid the village.”
Barbara’s eyes widened in understanding. Avoiding the village meant keeping away from people, away from anyone that might tell the story of this noble lady and her child.
The carriage swerved to the right as another pain came.
“Milady, perhaps we should stop,” ventured Barbara quietly.
“Don’t be silly, I’m quite alright. Besides, if we keep stopping, we’ll never get to the city on time.”
Barbara looked her in the eye. “I don’t think we’ll get there on time anyway milady. Please. We must be prepared.”
“Be quiet, Barbara, there’s absolutely nothing w-”
A flash of lightning cam spiralling down to earth, not ten yards away from the horses feet. It reared up in its harness, tipping the carriage in the process. the lady and her maid screamed as they fell. They heard Paul say “Easy girl, come on, back you come.”
The horse calmed, but the damage was done. The axle was broken, and the carriage rendered useless. Barbara stood up and helped up her mistress. “What do we do now milady?” she asked frightened as the driver looked through the hatch with a sorry expression. the lady looked at both of them, their faces full of fear.
“We do as you said Barbara, and prepare.” she said. “Or this child will never be out of me.” as she said the words, another pain came.
“Here?” asked Barbara, shocked.
“Outside.” They both stood in silence. “Well, what are you waiting for? Would you prefer both me and the baby died? Hurry!”
“But, milady, a child born out of doors-”
“Don’t tell me you’re superstitious! Uh, fine! Here’s a new one for you: a child born out of doors will grow up to be royalty! So, please, get this royal out of me!”
Barbara nodded without a moment’s hesitation and began to get out the mats she had brought for an emergency. With the driver’s help, she slowly laid her mistress down on the ground and began massaging the stomach. The squirming child was in the right position. With Paul kneeling at the lady’s head mopping her brow, Barbara set to work.
Even above the thunder, the lady’s moaning screams could be heard, for nearly an hour as Barbara spoke words of encouragement. The lady listened and obeyed, but knew the whole time, she was not going to survive this night.
Eventually Barbara cried “I can see it! It’s head! Oh, miss, it’s got hair, the loveliest golden hair. Just keep pushing you’re almost there.” She looked up at Paul, and her mistress’s face. It was wet, whether from sweat or tears of effort or both, and her hair had come undone. Her eyes were half closed and she did not answer, just groaned.
“Come on miss, push! That’s it, it’s here, come on, you can do it!”
The baby slithered out into her arms.
“It’s a girl!” Barbara cried and took out her little silver knife to cut the cord. Paul handed her the towels and she wiped the blood and slime off the baby, whose face was bawled up and crying. Barbara herself was laughing, as she cleaned it and wrapped it up, before handing it to her lady.
“What shall you call her miss? You should at least give her a name before you give her away?”
But the lady was slipping away, she just groaned.
“Milady?” said Barbara suddenly worried. “Milady? Come back, it’s alright, the baby’s safe. Milady please, focus. Can you hear me?” She handed the baby to Paul who spared it one look before concerning himself with his mistress.
“Milady, please don’t die, the baby’s here, she’s fine, she’s healthy, please, don’t you want to hold her? Please milady!”
But the lady’s sight was gone as well as her vision. She did not want to live. The child was safe after all.
A droplet of water splashed on her face.
“Rain.” she said, and died.
--
Paul lifted the body into the carriage and led Barbara into the woods. The girl was shaking badly. He pressed her into his chest as the baby’s cries continued.
“We’ve got to keep this one warm,” he said and wrapped its own cloak around the baby. After a moment, Barbara shed her own shawl and tied it over twice around the bundle.
It was quiet beneath the dark ferns compared to the roaring rain outside.
“What do we do?” asked Barbara quietly. “We can’t very well leave this child to die.”
“Perhaps we should leave it on a doorstep somewhere.” said Paul. “As cruel as that is, I really don’t see any other way.”
Barbara paused then said “But we can’t go anywhere until the carriage is repaired.”
“Then we wait until the carriage is repaired and I take you to the city as planned, and we can forget about this whole thing.”
There was another pause, then they both began speaking at the same time. “But-” started Paul and Barbara continued.
“They’re bound to make a connection between the child and us and it might be the wrong one. What if, I mean, what if they…”
“Think it’s-she’s our child? I see your point.” conceded Paul. He looked down to avoid her shrewd brown eyes.
They listened to the rain and Barbara said “Perhaps…we could take her with us. To the city and put her in the orphanage there.”
“That still leaves the problem of the broken carriage, and the people here.”
There was silence once again a Barbara stroked the tiny girl’s face. Glinting in a lightning flash were tears rimming her eyes like crystals. Paul felt a pang of sorrow for her. She could not have been more than fifteen, three years younger than himself.
“Maybe…maybe we should just go and tell them the truth.” he said slowly.
“The truth? But, Paul, then they would all know that it was Lady-”
“I know, but what else can we do? Besides, we could, perhaps, twist the truth a little… perhaps say we weren’t part of her household.”
“You mean…that she just picked us up?”
He shot her a roguish smile. “Exactly. We wrap the body up and go to the inn here. We tell them a woman in the South picked us up and promised to pay us handsomely. We can’t very well keep the poor child here in the cold. We ask for a room, or perhaps two…for propriety’s sake…and plead our case in the morning.”
“I-” she stopped. “I want to get this child through the night. There’s no other way is there?”
He shook his head. “I’m sorry, but I can’t see one.”
She took a deep breath. “And in the morning?”
“We either get the carriage repaired and take her to the orphanage or we leave her here and continue by ourselves.”
Barbara was quiet, then she said very quietly. “The poor thing isn’t getting a good start in life is she?”
“Barbara…” Paul put an arm around her as the tears spilt over her lashes. “I know, you’ve just had a shock, but you can’t keep that child. Even if it isn’t yours, think what it would do to your prospects. An unmarried girl with a child in tow. You know that that’s no life for either of you.”
“I know, but…” she sobbed twice then sniffed. “My prospects aren’t brilliant anyway. Running off to the North with no dowry. No, perhaps I should stay with her and-”
“I’m not about to let you ruin your life for a child you don’t even know!”
“Her mother did.” Barbara pointed out. It was Paul’s turn to be speechless. She looked at him hard, then her eyes softened.
“Look, maybe you’re right. In any case, we have to get the poor thing inside. If we stay here much longer she’ll freeze. Frostbite on top of everything else.” she said.
“Let’s go back and get some blankets for her, and wrap her mother up, hm?”
Barbara nodded and said “You lose a life, you gain a life. Funny old world isn’t it?”
“It is.” he agreed, glad that one issue of the night had been resolved.
They went back to the carriage and Paul wrapped up his former employer without much ceremony. Then he took the spare blankets and made an even bigger bundle of the baby, retrieving his own cloak and rewrapping Barbara in her wool shawl.
As they made their way to the candlelight of the inn in the centre of the village, Barbara began to sing the old Valerian lullaby.
“Sleep tight,
And dream,
Of all the precious things.
Hold on,
Tightly,
To those that you love.
I’m here,
You’re safe,
You will not come to harm,
So sleep,
And dream,
Of me.”
She paused and repeated the whole thing again, then slowly, as it came to her began to sing
“Closed eyes,
Gold hair,
A boy and girl who care,
Grow up,
Kind, wise,
With your mother by your side.
She died,
To save you,
And a life she never knew,
So she sleeps,
And dreams,
Of you.”
She stopped and looked at the tiny face just visible through all the layers. The baby cooed.
They reached the inn. A sign hung at the entrance saying “The Shadow in the Mist”. Paul held the door open for her. As she stepped inside, the warm glow of the candles felt like heaven after the dampness outside.
It quietened as each guest caught sight of the bundle in her arms. She took a step back but Paul put a hand at the small of her back and pushed her in. She would not take another step.
A bustling large woman came up to them and said “Come in, you’ll catch your death out there, look at the wee thing!”
She took the baby off her and Barbara got a closer look. The woman wasn’t old, maybe thirty or so, but her face was so caring, her hair scraped into a sparse bun, that she looked older, wiser.
“They’re gorgeous. Boy or girl?”
“A little girl.”
The woman stroked the baby’s face with rough hands. “Does she have a name?”
“Her mother didn’t name her.”
Barbara looked around the inn. It was full to bursting point, all eyes fixed on her. There were mothers with their own children in their laps, old men with mugs in hand, young men watching the shy girl with interest.
“So you’re not the mother?” asked a grey haired man nearby with a haughty face.
“Does she look like she’s the mother?” said the woman. She turned to Barbara. “I’m Helen, the landlady. This place doubles as town hall, everyone comes here during storms.”
“What hour is it?”
“Well…” Helen looked at the candles. “We changed these not half an hour ago, our second set so I’d say… three hours ‘til midnight.”
Barbara’s eyes widened. “It seems a lot longer.”
“It would, with this one in tow,” said Helen. “Where is the mother?”
Barbara looked down to blink back the tears. “She’s dead,” said Paul quietly.
“Bless her soul,” Helen whispered. “To die before she knew her child.”
“She didn’t want it,” said Barbara. “She was going to give it up. She died for a child she did not want.”
Helen shook her head. “’Tis tough, especially to you that knew her. You delivered it all by your lonesome?”
Barbara nodded.
“Then you get a drink and a seat by the fire while we decide what to do.” Helen said. “But I must know your names.”
“I’m Paul. This is Barbara.”
“Sit down, the pair of you. Hayes, get out of that seat would you? Yeah, you and all,” commanded Helen as she turned two young boys out of their chairs. “Can you not see this wee baby, half frozen to death and nought but an hour old? It deserves a seat by the fire.”
Barbara thanked her and took the baby back. It was woken, whether by the warmth of the fire or the movement and Barbara began to sing its lullaby. Paul sat beside her and tentatively put an arm around her.
“We’ll be alright,” he said quietly.
Barbara nodded and hummed the familiar tune to herself. Paul stood and took off his coat and cloak, then took the baby as Barbara did the same. As their wet things were laid out to dry Helen came back with two huge mugs.
“Hot milk,” she said. “Call me traditional, but I find it’s better for shock than brandy. But, if you want some-”
“No, this is fine.” said Barbara taking the mug. She suddenly noticed the room had gone quiet again.
“Now, look,” shouted Helen. “I know you’re all noses the lot of you, but let the two poor things at least warm up and get a drink before you begin questioning them.”
“But how do we know they’re not tricking us?” someone said. “That child, if it’s theirs, we shouldn’t be welcoming-”
“So you’d leave an innocent babe out to die would you?” said Helen. “How can you say that, when you know the reason poor Edgar and Isla are at home.”
No one replied. “As I said,” she continued. “They’ll drink, then we’ll talk. And if anyone disagrees, you can very well get out of my pub.”
She turned back to Barbara and Paul. “Sorry about this,” she said. “But, small town and all. They’re all very traditional, and nosy too.”
“That’s alright,” said Paul.
“Well, just drink up and then you can tell us your tale.” Helen stood up and went into the crowd.
The two of them drank in silence. The milk, though not strong, was warm and comforting and reminded Barbara of her home.
When they were finished and Barbara at last set her mug down, the silence gradually descended once again. Helen walked over and grimaced.
“There’s no escaping now,” she said. Then in a louder voice “Young Barbara and Paul here are going to tell their tale and you can decide whether to be good people or no then. Alright?” There was a murmuring and a scrape of chairs as all turned towards them.
“Whose child is it?” someone called from the back of the room.
“A lady’s,” said Barbara.
“What lady’s?”
“We don’t know,” answered Paul. “She found me one day at the carriage depot and asked if I was up for a trip north. The same happened to Barbara.”
“And you delivered it?” asked a woman nearby. Barbara nodded.
“My mother was a midwife.” she said. The woman looked impressed.
“How do we know you’re telling the truth?” called a man.
“You don’t.” said Paul. “You’ll have to trust us.”
“That could be the girl’s child!” another man said. “And this is your cover story.”
“I’ll tell you something,” said Helen. “If that girl gave birth to that child and still has that figure, I want to know her secrets.” A rumble of laughter circled the room.
“This isn’t a joke Helen,” said the grey-haired man from beside the door.
“I’m serious. Any woman that’s given birth in this room would agree with me, also I want to know, how she’s able to walk so well. And who delivered it, the boy? No, there’s no question, this baby wasn’t theirs. So tell us, you don’t know who the mother was?”
“No,” said Paul, inventing fast. “She never told us her name. We had to stop here, the horse reared and the axle broke.”
“Where was the baby born?” someone asked
“On the road south of here. The carriage and the mother are there.”
“The mother’s alive?”
“No.” Paul hung his head. “She did not wish to survive, even for this baby.”
“It’s all mighty strange in my opinion,” said an old man shaking his head. “Too strange, too high and mighty for our likes.”
“No,” said the woman who had been impressed by Barbara’s skills. “They’re just like us. And the baby-wait, was it named?”
“No,” answered Barbara.
“It should have a name,” said a young man sitting near the door.
“Look, that can wait, what do we do with these two?” said someone.
“The carriage will need fixing if you wish to send us on our way.” said Paul.
“You’re definitely moving on then?” said someone.
“Well…” he looked at Barbara. “There isn’t much else we can do. The child isn’t ours, it needs a proper family-”
“And why can’t it find it, right here in Mendon? In the valley?” said the young man by the door. “What about my brother and Isla?”
“Wait, who are these two? They’ve been mentioned before,” asked Paul.
“Isla recently lost a child. They are mourning it. It was to be their first.” said a woman with a soft voice, a baby in her lap.
“That’s awful,” whispered Barbara and looked down at the sleeping newborn. “You don’t think-”
“I think they’d take it,” said the young man. “If I know Edgar as well as I think, I know he’ll take it. They wouldn’t refuse a child.”
“Perhaps it would be better off with them than in the city,” said someone. Barbara nodded.
“You seem unsure,” Paul said to her quietly.
“I don’t want to leave her here and not know what happens.”
The woman who had asked about the name said “You do not wish to leave her do you?”
Barbara’s eyes widened at her understanding. “It’s not as if I have any claim to her but I’d feel wrong leaving her and not knowing she is safe. It’s silly but-”
“No, it’s not silly at all. What if they want to stay?” she said raising her voice.
There was a pause and someone said “Why?”
“Because seeing a baby born like that, poor Barbara’s already attached to her, sweetheart, and it’s going to be hard to break that connection. She will never know her real mother, perhaps though, she should know the next closest thing. I will take her on as a seamstress apprentice.”
A low muttering swept through the room. Then a man shouted “You promised that job to my daughter.”
“Yes, and then I saw her attempts at darning.” the seamstress cried. “This girl has clever hands, she could be good.”
“And the boy?”
“If we take the child to Edgar, I know he is looking for an extra farm hand.”
“And they just join Mendon?”
“It’s only a village,” said Helen. “We’re losing so many young to the cities, it’d be good to get some back. That is, if they want to stay.”
Barbara looked at Paul. “You don’t have to Paul.” she said.
“I know,” he answered. His eyes bored into hers. “But I’d like to be near to you.”
Barbara felt her face flush and in a flurry of movement she both looked away and held his gaze. The baby woke up and began to cry.
“Shush, sshh” she said rocking it. The crying was the only sound, the whole crowd listening to the creature the argument was about. Barbara began to sing the lullaby again. As she finished the part she had made up, she realised the room was still silent. She looked up.
“Heavens, but she can sing as well,” said Helen.
“She’d be an asset,” said someone nearby.
“And the boy?” said someone else.
“Sure and isn’t he enamoured with her already!” a voice cried.
“They’ll have to stay! We couldn’t let a voice like that pass.”
“Wait!” Edgar’s brother, the young man by the door stood up. “The child needs a name.”
Suggestions came from all directions. “Quiet, the lot of you! I think Jami might have something helpful to say to Barbara and Paul.”
“Yes. What was the mother’s last word?”
“She didn’t say any- rain.” ended Barbara. “It started raining.”
“Some name,” said a woman in a carrying whisper.
“Rain.” repeated Jami.
“Raene,” said Paul. “Spell it differently. A name like none other.”
“I could make her a little necklace to wear around her neck saying it.” said a man.
“Like you can write!” said his wife.
“It may not be much, but if the girl herself knew how it was spelt…” said the seamstress.
“I can read,” said Barbara. “I could teach her.”
“Raene,” said Jami, frowning. “Yes, Isla would like that. Isla would like that very much.”
Barbara looked down at Raene and smiled as their new lives began.
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